Looking for Connection
by Cececat
Summary: Magenta hates her life. Her wealthy dad hardly really speaks to her, school seems full of pro-monarchy propaganda, and her mum spends all her time lost in fashion magazines. Magenta can only 'connect' emotionally with her brother... (Please Read and Review!)


**A/N: So... new story. It's more "traditional" than my other current projects. As you've surely noticed it's about how Riff and Mags became the characters we know and (presumably) love. Like my stories often are, this one is partially based on my life. Though it's all pretty exaggerated. My dad does do some sort of thing that indirectly involves advising the US government and he spends too much time in Seattle and Alaska and other weirdness (we live near Washington DC, which is across the country from such places). It's a bit bratty for me to complain but I've been too annoyed about it lately.**

 **The feeling of loneliness and having no friends that Magenta writes of reflects the fact I have few friends I can really speak to. So many have moved away or are now in college. Though I don't obsess over my own brother like she does. I just pathetically try to see whoever I can. Anyway, I never really even** ** _speak_** **to my brother because he's too busy being smart. I half wish he was close to me. Like most of my family he's like a stranger. We're all strangers...**

 **Magenta's odd dialect/"creative cursing" isn't me. It's just sort of nonsense that seemed to fit the story.**

 **Another thing I should explain is the use of made up titles. By that I mean Mtx. (Magistrix), Mts. (Magistrus), and Mtl. (Magistrilli). They're supposed to be Ms., Mr., and a gender-neutral title. These days one here's all sorts of odd things about a gender-neutral pronoun being invented. I think our favorite aliens would already have such a thing in some form. The words themselves are based on a probably wrong (google-translated) Latin word for 'teacher'.**

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Dear Diary,

Today was dull and lonesome. Though that's terribly normal, I suppose. My morning to early afternoon was spent at Quinnstown School For Young People. That's also normal. Yet whoever may read this silly diary – presumably a nosy bastard or the idiot I one day marry – doesn't know the details of who I am.

My name, _darling_ reader, is Magenta Vitus. That bizzare given name is far from normal… as you surely realize. My family is extremely strange in some of the worst ways so the kids get stupid names. That's why my brother is named Riff Raff. No sane person calls a kid that.

But Daddy isn't around most of the time and Mummy is a fucking weirdo. The former works far too much, you know. He seems to think it's alright to hardly see his family. Too much time he spends in the capital city, advising the Queen herself. Now I really don't care a damned garter about all that. Sometimes I wish I lived on the streets if it would make the family closer. Indeed, the poor seem to stick together. We upper class twits drift apart because me can. So Daddy's in the city and Mummy's shouting at the servants about everything. She'll also believe all the stupid gossip she reads in magazines. That's probably where her poor children's names (being Riff Raff and Magenta) are from!

Maybe I should stop ranting about all that and start ranting about Quinnstown School For Young People. That's a snobbish place in which the Queen's stupid propaganda is hammered unceremoniously into our pretty little brains. Never have we learned about the other planets views. No, it's all about what Transsexual thinks of this or that. Bloody close-minded fishnet-trashers, the whole lot.

Though some teachers are decent persons. Since the school year only began a few days ago – we get a three-month break during the darkest months of our planet's year, in which my family goes to our stupidly expensive villa by the sea – I don't know my teachers very well. They seem nice, at least.

First we've got Mtx. Lunilla Silvian. She teaches us about other planet and such. Also, she's very keen on talking about our planet's odd orbit. And the moon. That woman loves the moon. At least she's kind…

Next on my prettily drawn class schedule is Mtl. Terry Roderickson. They're the one teaching ethics involving space travel (first contact regulations, etc). That's a required class because of the planet's new second-favorite obsession: space exploration. The first favorite obsession happens to be sex, if that weren't already totally obvious. Seriously, though. This space stuff is treated like it's all that matters. I find such an idea silly. Few people of my parents' generation knew anything about space! Very few people go anywhere. Not to mention all the stories about poor government employees getting stuck on some sort of asteroid in the middle of nowhere. Who wants that kind of job?

Following that is Mtx. Lucy Flavian explaining the joys of literature to us. She's actually pretty good – not like _that_ , as far as I know. Some fun sounding books will be read this year, apparently. Another nice thing is her lack of propaganda-spewing. She's gonna be the one I can complain to!

After a number of dull classes I don't feel like mentioning I went home. As usual

Father was not there. Mother was, of course. She was telling the servants what to cook for my snack. Apparently they need to chop up some sort of 'fresh' fruit.

Upon our dear planet there is no sunlight… or so it seems. Very few plants can survive when the only light comes from the moon. So all the really poor people and those who've pissed off the Queen harvest fruit of various sorts for us uncaring, heartless citizens. They don't tell us about that in school most of the time.

Anyway, I was home. After eating some of the cold fruit I was served I wandered off to another part of the house. That happened to be the library.

My dear brother is the only person who actually seems to understand me. He has lived the same chaotic life, after all. Though he's often got much work to do he usually spends precious spare time with me. I'll die of sorrow if he ever gets a date. Or perhaps of laughter, though, if the date is very ugly! Seriously, he's the best person I know. Sometimes I feel like Riff's all I have in this glittering world of fake goodness. He's serious and doesn't wear the decadent clothes most people wear these days.

Another odd habit of his is all the time he spends studying. Sometime I envy that man's cleverness. Though I suppose anyone could be clever if they really tried. I don't ever have the energy for it – like most young people. Not to mention he's 19 years old and in his 14th (last) year of schooling. I'm merely 16 and still in my 11th year!

So I walked into the library. He'd made the place his study not long before the time of this writing. When I entered the room he was at his desk looking over some papers. When he noticed me he walked towards me.

"Hello, dear," I said quietly.

I happen to be terribly shy and seldom speak in public. Perhaps that's why I don't have other friends. Though I do happen to smile a lot and laugh noisily at too many things.

"Sister! How was your day?" he asked, hugging me.

Happily I leaned against him and pulled him closer. For a moment I forgot to answer his question. I was too lost in the feeling of safety. He was protecting me from anyone or anything hurtful. How I love him for it. In a sisterly way, of course.

"Fine enough," I eventually said.

For a while we spoke of everything we cared not for and nothing that mattered. Such was our usual way of going about things. It's better to forget what's serious and speak of the silly, unimportant things. Well, better in the short term.

Now I'm being called to dinner. Perhaps I'll write more later. Let's hope we aren't eating dormice again… and _that_ Father's actually here for once. I can't remember if he's out of town.

 _Yours,_

 _Magenta._

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